temporary fix
by daydise
Summary: they didn't know what exactly their relationship was, but they did know that they were each other's temporary fix / bughead


**One shot. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.**

* * *

He didn't mean to do it. Well, he did— but not like that.

It was all sweaty palms, butterflies and heavy breathing. It was all question marks.

When Jughead kissed Betty, it was like he was falling. Falling off that rickety ladder he used to climb into Betty's room in the first place. But where was he going to land?

Betty smiled against his lips, and he decided, it was probably worth breaking a few bones.

She deepened the kiss and it felt like his home hadn't been torn down. It felt like his mum was back home, with Jellybean. It felt like his dad wasn't a drunk with no money. It felt like everything was fixed, and Betty was the glue. Come to think of it, Betty was always the glue.

She pulled back, eyes wide with realisation, and mouth off rambling about some car. All Jughead could do is smile.

* * *

Betty did mean to do it, but not like that.

Her face was soaked in tears, her body drowned in alcohol. They were in some clearing next to Sweet Water River. Jughead had taken her there to 'let loose' after seeing Valerie and Archie kiss. She swung the empty bottle, offering it to Jughead. "Juggie, have some!" she giggled, her head lolling to the side, resting on Jughead's jacket rolled up as a pillow on the rocks. Her tears were temporarily forgotten.

"No, Betts. I'm good." Betty felt his warm hands run through her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut. "Besides, you didn't even leave any for me," he snorted.

Betty blinked hard— once, twice— before the tears started to flow again. She threw her head into Jughead's chest, catching him off guard. "Betts?" She wrapped her arms around him, dropping the bottle. Her hands grabbed fist-fulls of his shirt, hugging him tightly in response.

An ugly sob erupted, only slightly muffled in his shirt. "That's what Archie said! No, Betts. I don't like you like _that_. I never have, and never will!" Her sobs intensified, leaving Jughead uncomfortable. Jughead and Betty usually avoided the topic of Archie. He shifted beneath her, making the 'hug' less awkward.

"Shh, Betty," he said, stroking her hair. "He did not say that," he tsked.

"Okay, fine! But he might as well have! He's probably prancing around Valerie right now! Or Veronica. Or Miss-fucking-Grundy! Anyone, but me!" Her tears were starting to soak through his shirt— or maybe it was snot. He couldn't tell.

Jughead peeled her off his chest, holding her by the shoulders. Her eyes were puffy, and it definitely was snot. He moved a hand to her cheek, rubbing away the tears. He looked at her squarely in the eyes. "Betty. Do you really want to be his fourth choice?" His voice was low, and even in her drunken state, she felt things.

When Betty didn't respond, he shook his head, signalling her to do the same. "Noooo," she dragged on uncertainty. She looked down at her lap in shame when Jughead glared at her.

"Betty, you don't. You deserve first place, okay? And if Archie can't see how smart, how kind, how worth it you are, then he doesn't deserve you."

Betty's head rose steadily, eyes uncertain. "You really think so?"

Jughead brushed away the fresh tears before they fell. "I know so."

Her lips curled up in a smile, and she rushed forward, crashing her lips against his. Betty would be lying if she said she had never fantasised about kissing Jughead. But, never in her fantasies would she kiss him like this— drunk and crying about Archie. She would also be lying if she said she was only crying about Archie. Archie was just the trigger in her mess of a life.

Polly couldn't live at home because her parents didn't approve of the baby. The Blossoms were out for blood— Polly's blood, and she still had to be the perfect little girl, with perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect everything. And Archie would never choose her because she was too perfect.

Jughead's lips parted, allowing Betty to shove her tongue down. It was probably the worst kiss for Jughead, but if it was, he would've pushed her off by now.

She'd also be lying if she said she didn't enjoy kissing Jughead. He had this effect on her— it was like his lips were bandages, healing her wounds— fixing her. When they kissed, it was like nothing else existed but them. Pulling apart for air, all Betty could do was smile.

* * *

They were sitting in a booth at Pop's, Betty sipping her vanilla milkshake, and Jughead devouring his third burger.

Archie and Veronica were in the booth opposite them, laughing. They were enjoying their new status as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Betty swirled her straw in her milkshake, frowning— she wasn't jealous anymore, which surprised her. Honestly, she didn't care who Archie pursued anymore. As long as she had Jughead.

Speaking of, she had always squashed the idea of Betty and Jughead. They spent a lot of time together (she still fantasied about kissing him, and sometimes they did kiss), but they never labelled it. She didn't want to start something if he didn't want to, but there was only one way to find out.

Pushing her milkshake towards Jughead, she gained his attention. He jumped up on his seat, reaching over to grab the half-full milkshake. He never turned down free food. He raised a brow at her.

"What are we?"

Jughead, frowned, both cheeks bulging with food. Betty shook her head, grimacing. "Talk with an empty mouth, please."

He ignored her, opening his mouth to speak. She squealed, laughing. Turning away, she yelled "Gross!"

He swallowed his food in one massive gulp, chuckling. "What do you mean, what are we?"

"I mean— like," she shrugged, pouting. "We—," she gestured between them. Betty was at a loss of words. She didn't even know what they were, so how could she expect him to know? Maybe, because he has his head stuffed in his laptop writing all the time, he would have a word for it. "We kiss. It's not _awkward_ — at least I hope it's not..." she trailed off, her face reddening. She dropped her hands to her sides. Suddenly, it was incredibly hard to look him in the eye.

He slurped at her vanilla milkshake, head cocked. What were they?

Frowning, he said, "I guess, we're each other's temporary fixes."

"But what if," Betty gulped, finding the courage to look him straight in the eye.

"What if I don't want it to be temporary?"


End file.
